


Firmament

by Himmelreich



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Gen, I gave up trying to keep all that information straight, M/M, Post return of kings, if anything doesn't line up with timelines from the novels and manga I apologise but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5708797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himmelreich/pseuds/Himmelreich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patience is a virtue, and this isn't the first time they are waiting for their King to return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firmament

On the list of surreal and painful experiences that Kuroh has compiled in the near twenty years of his life so far, there is a staggering number of entries related to his King. He has witnessed him die and come back to life again, swap behaviour and personality at the drop of a hat and cause his own downfall more often than not.  
  
However, the memory that probably will take the top spot for a long, long time to come is of when Neko and he can do nothing as Shiro vanishes in front of their very eyes again. Not with flames and thunder, but silently within the blink of an eye, leaving behind nothing but a confused, desperate boy who has no recollection of his identity. He clearly is afraid of them - Kuroh remembers very well how the boy’s eyes kept flickering down towards Kotowari at his side as if afraid Kuroh might chop his head off with the king-slaying blade the next second - and even though his voice, his face, his expressions are so familiar, something is lacking.  
  
This boy is not Shiro, not the Silver King.  
  
Kuroh helps him to his feet and accompanies him to the Blue Clan, then, leaving him in Munakata Reisi’s care.  
  
“Returning damaged goods, are we, Yatogami-kun?” Munakata taunts, but there is a fading red mark of a slap square across his cheek and exhaustion written all over his face. It is habit more than actual ill-intent, Kuroh knows, and doesn’t take the bait.  
  
Scepter 4 has the resources to find out just who the person Adolf K. Weismann has been possessing for years now was, especially now that they have confiscated all of the Green Clan’s computer hardware that has survived the Damocles Down. Hakumaitou, on the other hand, has nothing to offer the boy but unease. There is no comfort in spending time with people who act like they know you, when they actually don’t.  
  
“The Silver Clan appreciates your help,” Kuroh says instead, stressing the formal identification as a vassal, and Munakata smiles in response. It is a tad bit patronising, but at least this time he doesn’t offer him to switch affiliation and join his squad.  
  
Kuroh and Neko part with the boy with little fanfare. To him, they are  only a weird duo of strangers. To most people they probably look like this, now. The silver Clansmen, on their own once more.  
  
They don’t have to discuss their next steps; in fact, they don’t talk a single word until they are back in their King’s domain, nothing but plain little dorm room at face value.  
  
And then, the time of waiting begins.  
  
*  
  
Some days later, one of the blue Clansmen brings them a box with all the items the nameless boy says weren’t his and should hence be returned to the true Shiro’s friends. It includes clothes and Shiro’s phone, and at the bottom of it, Kuroh finds the Clan’s insignia. The coin still radiates the Silver Sanctum, and they put it down in the centre of the table, a visual reminder that this time, as well, their King would return.  
  
It will be some more time until the Slate’s powers will vanish entirely. How much exactly, neither the Gold Clan scientists nor Munakata with all the access to the Green King’s knowledge can say. Maybe only a few more weeks, maybe a few more years.  
  
Kuroh thinks the Weismann siblings might have been able to tell, but the notes of Dr. Klaudia Weismann that still lie scattered around all over the small kitchen table are indecipherable to him, and he does not think it right to hand them over to any researchers. They are his King’s possessions, after all.  
  
*  
  
Kukuri drops by almost daily, according to herself in order to make sure they eat properly. Kuroh doesn’t take offence at that, because she means well. She approaches them with a mixture of kindness and confusion, her memories of their previous encounters vague at best, re-written too often to be stable, and while she seems at a loss as to why exactly they are there, she doesn’t seem to mind.  
  
He is aware that this isn’t the place for them - neither he nor Neko are members of the school or staff - but it is the one place that connects them to Shiro, the one place he will definitely come back to. The Silver King has no other domain and refuge left, so it is their duty to maintain it.  
  
During their third week, some school officials show up to investigate the curious circumstances of the oddly-unrented-but-definitely-inhabited apartment on campus. They are dealt with quickly.  
  
As much of a pain in the neck she can be at times, Kuroh is grateful for Neko, not only because of her powers. It is nice not having to wait alone.  
  
*  
  
The phone call comes in the middle of the night, and Kuroh has to stop Neko from just knocking his PDA off the nightstand because she is upset at having her sleep disturbed. Telling her to sleep in her own bed is futile more often than not, but he has learned to put up with most of her habits.  
  
Wrestling the phone out of her hold and ignoring the complaining and whining about how _calling at this time of night is rude, Kurosuke_ , he blinks at the brightly lit screen with a frown.  
  
There is very few people who have his number to start with - Kukuri, of course, Scepter 4, and some members of HOMRA, that should be about all of them - and yet, the caller is listed as _Unknown_.  
  
Somewhat wary, he picks up, keeping Neko out of his way at arm’s length.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Is this Yatogami Kuroh of the Silver Clan?”  
  
The voice is male and polite, but definitely unfamiliar.  
  
“Yes. Who’s asking?”  
  
“This is Asano Natsumura speaking, formerly a member of His Excellency’s clan. I’m very sorry to disturb you at this hour, Yatogami-san,” the man continues on in a business like tone, “but I believe you should come over as fast as you can. We’ve had a somewhat unexpected situation here.”  
  
*  
  
On paper the Gold Clan disbanded once Isana Yashiro returned, promising to take care of the Dresden Slates in his late friend’s stead. Neverminding how that has turned out, without Kokujouji Daikaku holding a tight reign over the country, the remainder of the Clan has no longer influence on elected officials and police. As far as Kuroh knows, most members have scattered off to join other groups, their enhanced talents making them very valuable in their specific fields.  
  
However, the men that await them at the gates to Daikaku’s private mansion are still clad in the Gold Clan’s uniform, right down to the masks. If only a few years of serving under Ichigen have left him unable to shake off his Colourless Clan identity, he can’t even imagine how decades of being part of a Clan would affect them.  
  
“Thank you for coming this quickly,” one says, and he recognises the voice as the one of the caller. Faceless as he is, Kuroh can’t guess at the man’s mood at all.  
  
“No, we thank you for losing no time in contacting us.”  
  
Kuroh bows, and Neko tugs at his arm impatiently. Asano picks up on their tension, inviting them inside. The estate is old-fashioned and splendid, electric light disregarded in favour of lanterns. They follow their guide down winding garden paths and wooden verandas past endless walls of shouji doors, the uniform’s white tail in front of them an oddly bright dot in the twilight. The Rabbits’ uniform should look ridiculous, by any and all standards, but somehow they still radiate a power and confidence that has Kuroh stay on his toes, his left hand resting on Kotowari’s grip.  
  
“We woke up to noise coming from one of His Excellency’s private storage rooms that we haven’t yet begun to go through,” Asano begins explaining without turning his head towards them. “We reclaimed Adolf K. Weismann’s corpse from the Himmelreich’s crash site two years ago, and His Excellency took immediate measures to preserve it. He assumed the Silver King might be able to undo the Colourless King’s spell and return to his actual body eventually.”  
  
Neko’s fingers dig into Kuroh’s arm at the word _corpse_ , and he pulls her closer in response. They round a corner, and two silent Clansmen await them, opening sliding doors to let them step inside.  
  
“But once the Silver King returned as Isana Yashiro to His Excellency after the School Island incident, a return to his old body appeared unlikely at best. His Excellency himself took care of the entire affair, so even we weren’t privy to what exactly happened before he left with the Schattenreich to never return.”  
  
There is the faintest hint of bitterness in Asano’s tone, and Kuroh can understand it only too well. Both of their Kings didn’t trusted their Clansmen with the whole truth back then, when they disappeared without a trace. At least, Shiro returned to them alive.  
  
“We’ve assumed His Excellency saw to his friend’s body being cremated, or maybe according to his homeland’s rites, buried. There was no reason to believe that wasn’t the case - trust me, if we’d known, we would of course have handed over Weismann’s body to his clan.”  
  
Asano stops in front of a wall lavishly painted with flowers and cranes, no less splendid than the top floors of Minashira tower. Beyond this point were Kokujouji Daikaku’s private quarters, Kuroh assumes.  
  
“I apologise for the delay our ignorance caused you,” Asano says with the faintest of bows, and the doors part with a flick of his wrist.  
  
Sitting in the middle of the room, wrapped in blankets of black and gold, is a man so pale that for a second, Kuroh thinks it really is a corpse. Then, before he can even process what he is seeing, Neko lets go of him, all but launching herself at the stranger and nearly toppling them both over as she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his hair and begins to wail. The man hugs her back, struggling to regain their balance with a quiet laugh, and then he turns his attention towards Kuroh.  
  
“I think,” the man says, and all that Kuroh can think is that of course he should have known that the real Weismann’s eyes would be silver, “I’ve given the Lieutenant’s poor retainers quite the scare.”  
  
*  
  
There was a moment during his first year under Ichigen’s tutelage when his master asked Kuroh to interrupt his sword practice in the backyard to join him for tea on the porch, saying he had something important to tell him.  
  
“In accordance to the laws His Excellency Kokujouji Daikaku established, I’m required to instruct my Clansmen on all of the rules and history that comes with being part of a Clan,” Ichigen started, and Kuroh nodded, eager despite not understanding, really. He had heard the words thrown around a lot before, about Clans and Strains and Kings and Sancti, but it hadn’t mattered. He knew that Ichigen-sama was the greatest and most powerful person alive, and that he, Yatogami Kuroh, was blessed for being allowed to stay with him, and nothing else mattered.  
  
“It’s important that you know how this world works, Kuroh, because due to me, you won’t be able to avoid becoming more entangled in it in the future, I fear.”  
  
Back then, Kuroh didn’t understand why that would be an issue. Ichigen began with the almost fantastical sounding tale of how at some point in the distant past, someone had buried an incredibly powerful item beneath the fundaments of a church in a country Kuroh only had a vague notion of, and how centuries later a group of scientists and occultists had unleashed its power upon the world, calling forth the existence of seven Kings.  
  
“I’m the seventh King, the Colourless King. He’s the weakest link among them, but also the one with the most unpredictable powers, clairvoyance being my personal curse and gift,” Ichigen said, nonchalantly, and Kuroh immediately bristled and assured that his master was the most powerful he knew, so whatever some guy in a far-off city claimed was clearly rubbish.  
  
“You’re such an idiot, Kuroh-chan,” Yukari interrupted him, casually seating himself at the table without any invitation and snatching a teacake off Kuroh’s plate. Kuroh pouted and Ichigen laughed, patting his head.  
  
“It doesn’t matter if I’m any more or less powerful than other Kings, I’m happy with the way things are for me. I don’t have to fight them for any reason, and I’m certain my Clansman are just as strong as any of the Red King’s.”  
  
Placated by the praise, Kuroh listened as Ichigen went on to describe the individual Kings, then. Grey and Green were still not replaced after their previous incarnations had perished during the Red King’s Damocles Down, but were associated with deception and undiluted strength, respectively. Blue, the Clan standing for order and restraint, having lost their King to a self-sacrificing act just recently, and Red, the most destructive of them, whose last King had caused unprecedented disaster in his death.  
  
“What about the other two?” Kuroh asked.  
  
“There’s Kokujouji Daikaku, the Golden King. He's the one controlling the Slates ever since their discovery, and thereby also overseeing us, in a way. He’s the most powerful of the Kings and an influential and respectable person, so you shouldn’t pick a fight with his Clan if you’re smart.”  
  
“He’s also quite old,” Yukari said flippantly, brushing crumbs off his clothes. “Only a matter of time now until he’s replaced by a successor.”  
  
“Yukari,” Ichigen said, voice not raised but clearly disapproving. His pupil made a half-hearted apologetic gesture.  
  
“But if he’s the second King, how come he’s the strongest?” Kuroh asked with a frown, confused. The system made no sense to him. Gold clearly outranked silver in terms of worth and beauty, after all.  
  
“Aah, you see, the first King is a bit of a special case. He’s also referred to as the King of Origins, since he was the one who re-discovered the Slates and the first one they chose to imbue with power.” Ichigen pensively stared into his tea cup. “His power is unchangeability, from how I understand it, which practically makes him immortal. Apart from Kokoujouji, he’s the only original King still alive, even though no-one’s really seen him in decades now. He’s chosen to remove himself from this world as much as possible. Even I can’t grasp his future with my powers.”  
  
“What a waste of such a beautiful ability.” Yukari pushed his phone over the table towards Kuroh, tapping on the screen.  
  
He had opened a picture file, a grainy scan of an old black-and-white photograph, and Kuroh leaned in to study it. Captured was a group of people in lab-coats and uniforms bearing the unmistakeable swastika markings, posing among scientific equipment. In the centre of the shot was a group of three. In the middle was a man wearing a very earnest, self-conscious expression who stood out as much due to his tall build and distinct Eastern features as due to the foreign uniform. To his right was a young, fair-haired woman with a kind smile, her hands resting on his arm in a friendly and comfortable gesture. To his left, a young man in a lab-coat and with unkempt hair had thrown one arm around the foreigner’s shoulders and was beaming at the camera. The resolution of the image wasn’t large enough to tell for sure, but Kuroh had the strong suspicion that the weird lumps peeking out of the man’s coat pocket and collar were living mice. At the bottom edge, something was written which Kuroh couldn’t read, but he could make out the date - 4. August 1944.  
  
“With that carnage recently, those two old men and Ichigen-sama are the only Kings still left, imagine that. I can’t wait to see the new generation emerge.”  
  
Yukari’s voice, rich with that weird anticipation he had for some developments, barely made it through to him.  
  
“Living that long on your own, isn’t that lonely?”  
  
Ichigen smiled, then tilted his head back to glance at the sky. Rainclouds were gathering over the mountains in the distance.  
  
“You’d think so,” he said.  
  
*  
  
It is not that he hasn’t been aware of Weismann, as, well, Weismann. Apart from the photo he first saw on Yukari’s phone and then again as part of the documents Kusanagi-san had _acquired_ , as he put it, in Germany, he has also since seen a few images of the man post 1945. So, theoretically, during all the time he interacted with Isana Yashiro, he knew the actual person looked different.    
  
And yet, Kuroh finds himself staring.  
  
They are sitting around a brazier, the flames casting restless shadows on the painted walls. The Rabbits have provided them with tea and snacks despite the early morning hour, before retreating, saying that they surely would like to discuss some matters in private.  
  
Neko, giving in to her second-hand cat nature as per usual, has long since contently curled up with her head on Weismann’s knee, basking in the warmth of the brazier and fallen asleep. In response, he shook off one of the blankets and covered her with it.  
  
Unsurprisingly, waking up from years of being kept in a refrigerated coffin wasn’t the most agreeable experience, and the Gold Clan first of all saw to ushering their strange guest to take a warm bath while Asano called the Silver Clansmen. By now, Kuroh can watch the colour slowly returning to Weismann’s face, even though the man still looks oddly monochrome overall, pale skin, grey hair and silver eyes all giving the impression that the colour bled out of this person, seeping into the deep black of the yukata he is wearing. Probably also a possession of the late Kokujouji Daikaku, going by the embroidered golden insignia.  
  
“I hope you’ll never find yourself in this position, but let me tell you, Kuro - maintaining your consciousness and sense of purpose when you’re a disembodied spirit is incredibly difficult,” he says, tone light in spite of the subject matter, his fingers absentmindedly threading through Neko’s hair. Sitting like this, Weismann’s own is long enough to pool on the floor behind him. The hue is just a shade off between them.  
  
“I can’t imagine it,” Kuroh replies, even though it wasn’t really a question.  
  
“Don’t, it’s not pleasant even as a thought.” The man’s voice is different from Shiro’s, too, even if the tone and timbre are similar. Lower, maybe, and a bit rougher. It hasn’t been used in two years, after all. “I’m not the Colourless King, so I couldn’t just possess anybody, you see. I thought maybe it might be possible with braindead patients, but that didn’t work out.”  
  
Kuroh suppresses a shudder at the mere thought.  
  
“I was beginning to fear I wouldn’t make it, when I felt this tug of sorts, at the very back of my being. I can’t explain it, really, but I just let myself go and gave into it. Next thing I know, I woke up here. I’ve never been so cold in my life, Kuro, and I sincerely hope I’ll never wake up in a coffin in a dark room ever again.”  
  
Weismann laughs softly, enough to cause Neko to stir in her sleep, rolling to the other side, and Kuroh glares at him.  
  
“This isn’t funny, Shiro.”  
  
The name is on his lips without him noticing, but his King just smiles, clearly unbothered by it. Kuroh glares at the coals instead, then.  
  
“I’m sorry, Kuro.”  
  
The light insincerity of his tone clearly didn’t change with his other body. Kuroh gathers himself to voice a reprimand of sorts, a threat that if Shiro ever does something like that to his Clansmen again, he would test Kotowari’s blade on him after all, but is interrupted by an unexpected touch.  
  
“I’m very glad to be back,” Weismann says, his hand now on Kuroh’s shoulder, “and even more glad to see you well. And just so you know, Kuro, this time I insist on a hug.”  
  
Kuroh is simply pulled forward before he can even think of protesting. Lack of coordination has his temple connect rather uncomfortably hard with Weismann’s jaw, but it doesn’t matter.  
  
“You’re an idiot,” he mutters, digging his fingers into strands of hair and fabric.  
  
Weismann just hums contently in response.  
  
*  
  
Kuroh doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up around midday when Neko basically jumps on him, yelling that Shiro has disappeared again. It takes a short moment for Kuroh to regain his bearings - he is lying on the floor next to the long-since cold brazier, covered in a blanket and his sword removed from his belt - and then he is on his feet, shoving doors aside to make his way through the estate.  
  
They find Weismann in a large room that opens to the garden, seated at a table laden with food. He has changed into what apparently were the clothes his body had been clad in, a ruffled shirt and a near floor-length coat. He greets them with a bright smile, motioning them to come closer. In the light of day, he looks less ethereal, even though Kuroh still has some trouble believing that this wasn’t all just a fever dream.  
  
“I was just about to send someone to go check on you,” Weismann says once they have settled at either side of him. “The Lieutenant’s Clan was kind enough to provide us with breakfast. Though, rather lunch, if you consider the hour of the day.”  
  
“What do you plan on doing next?” Kuroh asks, watching as Weismann throws out crumbs of bread into the pond outside, causing the koi within to splash around to his obvious delight.  
  
“Well, I don’t want to overstay my welcome here. I think I’ve put the Lieutenant’s Rabbits through enough so far, they have a lot to deal with here even without their King’s troublesome friend. I’m feeling much better today, so I intend to go home.”  
  
“Right, let’s go home and have Kurosuke cook us dinner!” Neko has again moved to almost settle on Weismann’s lap, and Kuroh can’t help smiling.  
  
“Sure, let’s do that.”  
  
It doesn’t matter that their home isn’t an imposing palace or a posh bar, the only thing that counts is that they are all back together.  
  
*  
  
“Yes. Yes, it would appear so. Interference? Ah, no, I wouldn’t want to cause you any more trouble than I already have, Munakata-san. Hmhm. Is that so? Thank you, then. No, I don’t plan on doing that. Yes. We’ll stay in contact. Same to you.”  
  
Weismann lets out a long-suffering sigh and hands Kuroh his phone back.  
  
“Is the four-eyed boss annoying you?” Neko asks, turning on her heels without breaking her stride and with an excited expression. “Do you want me to play a prank on him or-”  
  
“Ah, no, it’s fine, it’s fine. Un-dying is just a lot more hassle than you’d think,” Weismann says, ruffling her hair. She fits even more comfortably to his side like this, Kuro thinks, glancing sideways at the man. It’s not something that really bothers him, but he remembers that when they first met, he had no difficulties literally sweeping the boy off his feet in order to carry him. That wouldn’t work as easily now, probably, with Weismann notably taller than him.  
  
“I already told Anna that you’re back”, Neko goes on, holding up the red marble she received from the other girl close to Weismann’s face for him to see. She, for her part, seems utterly unimpressed by her human changing this drastically. “She says you’re welcome to visit Bar HOMRA whenever you want to.”  
  
“That’s very kind of her. We should go see them soon, then. I want to thank them in person for all their help.”  
  
Even though it is late evening by now, there still are some students walking about the campus, giving their trio interested looks. Kuroh can hear some whispering, too, and he has little doubt that with the arrival of yet another new person, gossip surrounding their apartment - long since one of the seven mysteries of this school - will flare again. Maybe he should ask Neko to tamper with their memories later when Weismann would be out of earshot.  
  
“I haven’t moved your things,” he explains once they have entered the room, as Weismann takes in the mess of notes and research papers still lying about in heaps on the table and the floor with slightly raised eyebrows. “I thought you might have your own order of things and not like anyone else mess with it.”  
  
“According to my sister, I have no order or system whatsoever. Thank you, though, Kuro, you’re considerate as always.”  
  
They each go to their own work, then, falling back into the same rhythm as before the Green King incident. Kuroh returns to his own domain in this small space, the kitchen, and through the thin wall he can hear Weismann rustling through papers and laugh softly at Neko’s chatter from time to time.  
  
It is almost as if nothing has changed.  
  
*  
  
Later, Weismann goes through the belongings the other Shiro has sent back, and Kuroh catches him trace the linings of the old clothes with an absentminded smile.  
  
“I quite liked that ensemble. I suppose this here is a bit out of style by now.”  
  
With how often he has crossed path with his former senpai in the last year, Kuroh can’t help but imagine what Yukari would have to say about ruffled shirts.  
  
“Maybe a bit,” he says, diplomatically, as he settles down next to Weismann and takes a closer look at the fabric, checking the inner seams with practiced and critical eye. “The shirt might be a lost cause, but I think I can alter the coat to fit you again. I can use the black one you’re wearing now for reference, and not changing the length shouldn’t matter, so it’s mainly shoulders and-”  
  
He looks up when he hears Weismann snicker, the teasing smile not really hidden behind his hand, elbow propped on the table.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing, nothing.”  
  
Kuroh narrows his eyes at the obvious lie, and Weismann winks at him.  
  
“I was merely thinking that I, being utterly useless at anything practical, truly have been blessed to have a vassal with such commendable housewife skills.”  
  
“I’m not-” Kuroh bristles the same moment that Neko skips in from the kitchen, letting herself drop against his back and poking his cheek.  
  
“Right, right, Kurosuke’s a great housewife!”  
  
Kuroh feels his right hand twitch in a familiar manner, but Kotowari is resting on a sword stand at the other end of the room now, testament to their peaceful life within these four walls.  
  
“Nevermind,” he says, handing Weismann the clothes back.  
  
He ignores Neko’s jabs and Weismann’s insincere apologies for the rest of the day. Once both have gone to sleep, he sits down under the desk lamp and starts taking apart the seams, one by one.  
  
*  
  
Living in an apartment intended for one person as a group of three does have its complications, especially with one person still trying to accommodate to a changed perception of himself.  
  
It is on the third day that Neko, passing through from the kitchen, steps on the tresses of Weismann’s hair on the floor as he is sitting at the table, just leaning over to pick up another of his sister’s journals.  
   
“I’m not used to long hair anymore,” Weismann laughs, even though his eyes are suspiciously wet and he presses a hand to the back of his head. Neko is clinging to his shoulder, apologising. “I think this only worked before because I had a whole lot of space just for myself.”  
  
Kuroh just silently volunteers one of his hairties, then reconsiders.  
  
“Do you rather want me to cut it?”  
  
He has learned how to deal with hair from Yukari, and even though he and his senpai have a lot of disagreements, Kuroh does acknowledge the other’s aesthetic sensibilities.  
  
“I’d like that a lot, if you don’t mind.”  
  
Kuroh lets one of the long tresses run through his fingers and thinks on the matter. He can’t imagine Shiro’s haircut on this person, he finds, but he remembers the photo that now has found its place on the walls of the apartment.  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
When he is finished, enough hair covering the floor to probably stuff a entire set of couch pillows with, he realises how Weismann is putting himself together from different shards of a personality that shouldn’t fit together smoothly, and yet do. The Silver King, looking no different than he had when he was just a normal man in a century long past, living the life of a student he never was, in the clothes of someone who had been willing to die to make up for a mistake that wasn’t his to begin with.  
  
“It suits you just fine,” he says, and Weismann smiles, giving Kuroh’s ponytail a playful tug as he walks past him out of the small enclosure of the bathroom.  
  
“Thank’s a lot, Kuroh. I can’t go around looking prettier than my wife, can I?”  
  
*  
  
“Where are you off to?”  
  
Weismann stops on his way to the door, caught, and Kuroh notes how he shifts slightly to hide the folder he carries from attention, achieving the absolute opposite. It is early morning, Neko still fast asleep, definitely way before their King’s usual hours.  
  
“Well,” Weismann says, clearing his throat, “there’s the minor problem of how we’re going to live from now. I should see to that.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“In between dying, twice, and also not having had a real paying job for the past seventy years, I’m not exactly affluent.”  
  
Kuroh blinks, wondering if his ears were still asleep or if Weismann had just said that.  
  
“What?”  
  
Weismann scratches his neck sheepishly.  
  
“You as a hardworking person probably would disapprove, but the truth is that I mostly relied on the Lieutenant’s kindness in the past to get by. The ship was my design, so I borrowed it” - Kuroh amends that to _stole it_ in his mind - “from the Luftwaffe, seeing how it would only have ended up burned otherwise. I didn’t need much other than provisions and the like, and those things I got from the Lieutenant. He said I should consider it royalty on my scientific work of the past. But it was never something official, always off the books and all, given that with unconditional surrender of the Reich, most scientific war research was confiscated.”  
  
“So you basically were His Excellency’s kept woman,” Kuroh summarises.  
  
Weismann looks inappropriately unabashed as he agrees.  
  
“If that’s what you’re concerned with - I still have my reputation as the Black Dog to my name, I won’t have trouble finding jobs.”  
  
“I can’t expect you to do that, Kuro. Theoretically, I as a King should take care of my Clan, not vice versa.”  
  
He probably thinks of Kokujouji and Munakata as he says that, and Kuroh knows that even if he should mention that it is different with Kusanagi and HOMRA, Weismann would remain stubborn on this matter.  
  
“It’s not even a matter of me not being _qualified_ ,” he continues, now showing the folder more clearly. Kuroh recognises it from having seen it among the documents on the table. “It’s just that I can hardly apply to places with a university degree from the 1930s without raising some questions.”  
  
“Why not have Neko help you?”  
  
“Her powers will wear off, slowly, as will mine. I can already feel it happening, Kuro. So it wouldn’t help me in the long run.”  
  
For a moment, they are both quiet. He knew that with the slates destroyed, the supernatural powers would fade, even if he himself hasn’t noticed it so far. It would mean the last remainder of Ichigen’s power would vanish, and their bond with Shiro would no longer be anchored to something visible. Kuroh shakes his head to dispel the thoughts, focussing on the problems at hand instead. One step at a time, they would figure it out.  
  
“What do you want to do instead, then?”  
  
“Call in another favour with the other Kings. I’m certain Kusanagi-san has ways of managing to get a slightly updated version of this for me. That wouldn’t technically be forgery, right?”  
  
Weismann clearly wants validation, and Kuroh sighs. Considering that so far they have compiled an entire dossier of identity fraud and theft between the three members of Hakumaitou, it shouldn’t even matter.  
  
“I suppose not. You know what you do in your field, clearly, so there should be no harm in you returning to it.”  
  
“Alright, just as I thought. Then, I’ll be off now, wish me luck!”  
  
When Neko wakes up later and asks where Shiro was, Kuroh shrugs.  
  
“About now, probably getting verbally slapped by Munkata again.”  
  
*  
  
“I’ve applied for a job,” Weismann informs them over dinner two days later, looking very proud of himself.  
  
His various trips from Kings to offices all around town have paid off, and he has a shiny new official diploma and passport to show for it.  
  
“Wha’ ish it?” Neko asks, mouth full. Kuroh has given up on scolding her for that every time, and hearing what his King has to say is more important now, anyhow.  
  
“Since I like this place so much and it’s the closest to a home I’ve had in decades, I decided I’ll stay. The school’s biology teacher’s taking leave of absence since she’s pregnant, and they were grateful to find a replacement right away.”  
  
“Do you have any actual teaching experience?”  
  
“None whatsoever.” Weismann looks unperturbed by that confession, smiling brightly and flexing his arm with an air of enthusiasm. “In the spirit of education, I’m going to learn it as I move along.”  
  
While Neko cheers on him, Kuroh makes a mental note to still look into job opportunities for himself, just to be safe. Even if his Sancti powers are waning, he still has his fighting skills, some bodyguard job or the other should be available.  
  
“Oh, and one more thing.”  
  
Weismann retrieves another passport from the assorted documents, and slides it across the table to Neko. She approaches it with great caution, and slams it shut almost as soon as she has peered inside.  
  
“I’m Neko!” she exclaims, fingers digging into the hem of her skirt. “I don’t need any other name, Shiro! I don’t want to leave!”  
  
“Neko,” Weismann tries to assuage her, dropping his hand with a sigh when she turns her head away. “As long as I’m alive, I promise you’ll never have to leave my side if you don’t want to.”  
  
“You promise?”  
  
“I do. It’s just that our powers won’t last, Neko, and you’ll have to be able to live in this world without them. A name on paper won’t tie you down, but it’s necessary.”  
  
Kuroh picks up the document and finds that it is registered to Neko’s official name, Ameno Miyabi. It probably hasn’t been as difficult to acquire as one that testified Adolf K. Weismann not having been born before the last World War. When he looks up again, Neko has already gotten over her grudge, probably bribed by the fact that Weismann gave her his portion of grilled fish.  
  
“Since you’ve never been to school properly, I thought this would be an ideal opportunity,” Weismann goes on, producing an enrolment form from his documents.  
  
“Do I ha’ to?”  
  
“It would make me very happy,” Weismann says, definitely going for successful emotional manipulation. “And I’m sure Kukuri would love to have you as her junior student, too.”  
  
“Okay!”  
  
Inwardly, Kuroh thanks his own persistence for managing to make his fellow clansman wear clothes over the year and a half of Shiro’s absence. At least he probably wouldn’t have to make sure she was wearing a school uniform every morning, now.  
  
*  
  
“I hope you didn’t sign me up for school, as well, while you were at it.”  
  
Weismann looks up in surprise, then laughs.  
  
“Ah, no. After all you made clear multiple times in the past that Ichigen-sama did a great job at teaching you. I don’t think I can expand much on that.”  
  
Remembering all to well that Shiro’s usual reaction to these moments had been exaggerated comical disgust, Kuroh huffs, closes the door behind him and strolls over the school’s rooftop to sit down next to his King at the edge. As long as you didn’t have to fear falling off, it was a wonderfully quiet place, the view extending all over the bay to the sparkling lights of the city in the distance, the rumbling of the waves on the shore and the smell of salt drifting up with the wind.  
  
“I forgot to ask, but what about the apartment? Does Neko as a student have dorm rights, or- ”  
  
“Things can stay as they are. I registered her under her real name, but given she has no living relatives left, I claimed she’s the daughter of remote late aunt of mine and I’m her guardian. I as a teacher can pick to live on this island, including members of my family.”  
  
Kuroh blinks.  
  
“And that makes me?”  
  
Weismann nudges his side and grins.  
  
“My wife would be family as well, right?”  
  
At some point, Shiro would have to grow tired of this joke, Kuroh thinks, but apparently not yet tonight.  
  
“Fine, whatever, as long as it secures us the place, I don’t care what sort of family you tell them I was.”  
  
“It’s something each Clan decides for themselves, what they want to be, I mean. An organisation or a family, that sort of thing.”  
  
“It’s the King at the centre, so it’s him who makes the decision,” Kuroh disagrees.  
  
Weismann hums and lets himself fall on his back, gazing up at the sky.  
  
"Do you miss it? That time of being alone up there?"  
  
Asking that question, Kuroh isn't even sure if he will get a straight answer. Even though his King returned back to his old self in terms of physical appearance, he still has proven to have kept the infuriating tendency to lie more often than not - or rather that this might have been a trait of his true self from the start, and not just a passing fancy of Isana Yashiro's. Kuroh has gotten used to always half-second guessing his King's every word by now, only assuaged by the fact that he had not broken the most important promise he had made to him - to definitely survive and come back.  
  
“Well, the view of the night sky from the Himmelreich was fantastic - less interference with the lights of the city, you see, and sometimes it felt as if I was close enough to touch the stars from there."  
  
“That’s not what I mean.”  
  
Weismann laughs quietly.  
  
“Yes, I guess you didn’t. I don’t know. You can get attached to feelings even as sad as loneliness over time, you see, and it did get lonely at times, very lonely, but I had gotten so used to it that I didn't mind.”  
  
"Why didn’t you leave, then?”  
  
“Because I thought the loneliness was unchanging, just as I myself couldn’t change. If you are the only person who’ll survive an eternity, the only thing to give you company in the end is loneliness."  
  
Kuroh looks at the lines of Weismann’s face, half in shadows, and he wonders how long it must have taken until he had realised he couldn’t age, couldn’t die.  
  
“But that's not true, you have people who care about you.”  
  
“Back then, I've never thought I would have these kinds of relationships. The stubborn Lieutenant refusing to give up on me after over half a century, or let alone clansmen and a loyal knight at my side.” He extends one hand and gestures Kuroh to come closer. “Let me show you something.”  
  
The concrete is pleasantly cool in the warm summer air, while not exactly comfortable, but Kuroh complies anyway.  
  
“This constellation here,” Weismann gestures rather vaguely at a point in the sky above him, “is called canis maior, the greater dog. Or großer Hund, as I would say.”  
  
Kuroh tries to follow the indicated direction, but all he can see is bunch of stars in random patterns, barely contrasted against the bright lights of Shizume City.  
  
“I don't think I see it.”  
  
“Huh. Let me try again.” Weismann takes a hold of Kuroh’s wrist, bringing their arms into aligned position. “You do need to point your fingers a bit, or it will be difficult to actually point at things, you know? Right, like that. So, that very bright star just over there? It's called Sirius, it's the brightest in the night sky we're seeing right now. Try following the pattern from there on. Do you see this? It's the dog's head, and the ears, here, and then the long neck-”  
  
Kuroh tries to concentrate on Weismann’s words, to make out a shape from the single points of light showed to him.  
  
“-and the one back at the head where we started, that very bright one, that’s Sirius. Do you see it now?”  
  
“I do. Are you trying your teaching techniques out on me right now?”  
  
Weismann laughs at that, a vibrant and genuine sound.  
  
“Astronomy is merely a hobby, not my area of expertise, but I’m glad if it still worked for you. You’re not my student, though.”  
  
He still hasn’t let go of Kuroh’s wrist, and when Kuroh turns his face, he finds Weismann is looking at him, up close. And then, he leans in just a fraction more, kissing him.  
  
“No,” Kuroh murmurs as Weismann pulls back, ignoring how his pulse has picked up the pace, “or else this would be vastly inappropriate.”  
  
“Being with you, sometimes I almost forgot I was living on borrowed time, in a borrowed body.” Weismann closes his eyes and threads his fingers with Kuroh’s. “But there are things I couldn’t do. Time has started moving for me again now, Kuro, and I don’t want to regret not doing this.”  
  
“It’s alright.”  
  
For a while, they rest side by side in silence.  
  
“It's actually two,” Weismann then says, out of the blue.  
  
“What?”  
  
“It's two stars. Sirius, I mean. To our eyes, they look like one, but it’s really two. You know, I didn't like hearing others refer to you as the Black Dog, it sounded condescending, as if you were some feral beast. But you aren’t like that at all. Quite the opposite, you’re like Sirius of this constellation, the brightest star. To me, at least.”  
  
Weismann turns on his side, resting his head on Kuroh’s shoulder. He still hasn’t let go of his hand.  
  
“There are things that are too far gone to touch them, and just admiring them from afar is fine, sometimes. But in other cases, that just isn't enough. I’m glad I met you and that you’ve waited, twice.”  
  
“Of course I did, I told you I would.”  
  
As with all gradual developments, it was almost impossible to pinpoint the exact moment when it had all begun, Kuroh thinks, and maybe no such moment existed at all. It doesn’t matter either way. Their future might no longer be endless, but they could still make it count.  
  
“Welcome back, Shiro.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think my Astronomy teacher would be pleased to see I put my knowledge attained with much hardship and general incompetence in sciences to some use at all. I guess. 
> 
> That said - oh boy. Parts of this, including the title, are based on a very old draft. And by very old I mean "from right after the end of the first season and well before I actually wrote fanfiction here". For various reasons, I didn't touch this document again until after the last episode of Return of Kings aired. My feelings for this show/universe are ambivalent, but I'm not going to deny that the ending was literally everything I've ever wanted for the Silver Clan, right down to Weismann returning as himself at the end _out of nowhere_. To mis-quote my deer friend, thank you for nothing Gora and also original Weismann. 
> 
> With this story, I close the chapter of K for me. Thank you for all the colours, music and mood-whiplashes. Thank you for making me care for the trio that was doomed from the beginning and for the trio that actually achieved happiness. And last but not least, thank you for lending me a username.


End file.
